


Lovely Ladies

by LadyHeliotrope



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crack, Crack Relationships, Fluff and Crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:20:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22509958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyHeliotrope/pseuds/LadyHeliotrope
Summary: This is totally a Just-For-Fun ficlet series. What if all the conniving Maenads at Hogwarts and elsewhere decide to go after Severus? Of course, he tells himself that he wants none of it, but is that true? Set randomly during Snape's teaching career.
Kudos: 8





	Lovely Ladies

Femme Fatale Number One: Bathsheda Babbling, Ancient Runes

She'd stacked her books on his favorite chair in the teacher's lounge. He stood in front of her, glaring, but to no avail—the weedy Ancient Runes professor was immersed in the unabridged, un-translated _Hymns of the Bacchic Nymphs_ and took no notice of her twitching colleague.

He turned about, deciding that Fate was punishing him yet again, and spitefully quoted aloud the text she was reading. (He had read it before.)

"If Dionysus be there / do not prostrate yourselves before him / but instead seek his honor / by offering him his place at your side".

Of course, being brilliantly well read, he cited it in flawless Nymphish.

This did turn her glassy gray eyes from the page, and she squinted, drawing her glasses from their place on her brow.

"Severus," she said and suddenly giggled. This made her appear younger than her rising thirty-odd. "Hello."

He stared mutely at her, waiting for her to wave away her books and invite him to sit. However, she merely met his gaze, blushing.

_Oh, confound it. Irritating bint._

He left the younger woman, who stared wistfully after him. Perhaps it was better that he did not notice the faintest pink of tongue poking from the corner of her lips.

. . . x . . . X . . . x . . .

Femme Fatale Number Two: Irma Pince

"Scribbles in the margins," she observed, a dangerous brew of triumph and horror in her eyes.

The haughty curve of his smirk, which rose as he turned away from the book-return counter, did nothing to help his case.

"They were present when I first retrieved it from the shelves, Irma."

"Oh, certainly," she sneered, flipping through the pages and putting her finger delicately on the spine. "I'm thoroughly convinced that a _student_ just happened to know that 'This is outdated; Theophilius of Aragon disproved this in _Études sur les Potions_ in 1483'. Besides, I happen to recall that _you_ took out _Études_ not three weeks past, Severus!"

"Have you ever considered, Irma, that the handwriting in question might not be my own?" Severus prompted coolly, not even deigning to look at her. "I found that particular comment actually resembled the form of Dumbledore's pen."

He knew that she was squinting, her beady eyes intensely examining the print.

She surprised him. "Well, in that case, it should be no skin off your teeth if I use the new ink-removal spell I've developed," the woman retorted. Severus, irritated at the comment, turned back to her with a sneer.

"It's an annotation that prevents the spread of misinformation," he protested in a low, hissing tone. "The truth should take precedence over your obsession for tidiness."

"The pristine state of this book has been marred," she replied crisply, adjusting her glasses with the prim decorum of a nun. "As a librarian, it is my duty to renew it. Other people read books, you know, and deserve to have the same quality of experience as you did. If you care so greatly about preserving your 'truth', I recommend that you publish your own annotated version. Then, when others scribble in the margins of _your_ work, I will uphold the favor, the same as I do for all other published works."

That was her philosophy. She would not move from it, and Severus knew that. However, he jabbed one last thrust at her argument, however futile.

"But if you mean to give 'the same quality of experience' as myself to others, then that necessarily entails that they are as educated about the craft as I am. Since they are not, in order to _provide_ such a reading, I educate the public by bestowing some small grain of my own knowledge in a convenient spot. You should be thanking me, Irma."

With that, he stalked from the library, not noticing that the librarian's expression changed as soon as his back was turned.

"You got him riled, my dear," Irma congratulated herself aloud, the hint of a smile on her thin lips. "Enough so that he forgot to check out anything more. He'll be back before tomorrow."

So saying, she sighed, brushed some wrinkles from the front of her shirt, and re-crossed her legs

. . . x . . . X . . . x . . .

Femme Fatale Number Three: Ariana Dumbledore

"I don't understand your cause for fuss, Severus."

In tireless attendance of the ceiling's activities, Snape's pupils budged from their duties only to regard Dumbledore with scorn.

"Sir," the Potions master addressed his superior. "In the past month, you have summoned me to your office no less than forty times—mostly for trivial matters. Now you ask me if I... _fondle_ myself?"

Snape's eyes loftily swooped down to meet Dumbledore's like a hawk upon its prey. "I've been patient, Headmaster—excessively so. But not now. Not where my personal propriety is in question. I'm appalled and insulted."

So saying, he stood, thrusting back his shoulders.

"Don't bother calling me again this week unless it's on official business. Furthermore, if you are displeased with my work, please say so outright. I do _not_ like to play your little games." He followed this by a haughty sniff, and he stalked proudly out of the room.

"I presume that's a 'yes' to your question, my dear," Albus said, directing his grin towards Ariana Dumbledore's portrait on the nearest shelf.

"I actually disagree, as usual," the young lady said, a grimace on her painted face. Even though she had died a trifle on the younger side, her artist had obliged Albus and crafted a slightly older version of herself, appearing twenty years of age. For the past thirty years, she had sat on Albus' office shelf, prim, poised, and pretty, but also his favorite critic.

She continued, "He didn't look embarrassed or turn red like he does when he talks about Lily Evans. Lily Evans!" Ariana's ladylike lips pouted. "That little vixen."

"But he got quite defensive," countered Albus good-naturedly. This was an argument he was not fully engaged in, for he was opening a new bag of lemon-drops.

"You of all people can never understand. He's prudish. It's incredibly endearing; chastity comes naturally to him. He's puritan; he tries so hard to be free of lust—he wants to be _clean_ , Albus."

Her brother chuckled. "He is no knight in shining armor, my dear."

"Far from it; I've seen him at his worst, same as you! And remember, there was that vase he hurled that broke my frame once. He hasn't nearly killed _you_ yet, has he?"

"And yet you love him, indiscriminately," Albus replied gently, sucking on a clump of three lemon drops thoughtfully. "I do wonder if that's all that's kept him alive so long. His love for Lily may never die, true, but to be loved—there's no better protection."

"So," the young woman said, changing the subject before her brother could wax philosophical, "when do you suppose we could lure him back again? It must be soon. I would hate to learn that my poor little Severus was left alone to his own melancholy."

"Oh, soon enough, I expect." With that, Albus cheerfully began to shuffle through his papers. "What sort of proper excuse can we trump up?"

. . . x . . .

_A/N: What sorts of excuses did Albus use? Oh, nothing much. Just a) for Severus to read an article on eating aphrodisiacs and give his thoughts on it, b) to judge on strawberries versus passion-fruits, twigs versus hourglasses, and lace versus silk, and c) once to ask if Sev liked chocolate or roses better, and which he, as a 'man of limited perspective', would give to a lady. I wonder what Sev thinks now!_

. . . x . . . X . . . x . . .

Femme Fatale Number Four: Arabella Figg

Order of the Phoenix meetings never addressed anything pertinent to Snape, so he mostly sat alone in a corner and steadily gazed at whomever held the floor. One evening, however, a lady with graying tresses joined him.

She and Severus sat in complacent silence for some time, and he rather forgot she was there. In the middle of a particularly boring sentiment by Frank Longbottom ('the goody-two-shoes' in Snape's mind), the woman roused Severus' attention.

"I wish that young man in tweed would stop his fidgeting," she dryly commented, curling her lip and nodding at Arthur Weasley.

Snape did not reply, but for the next ten minutes, he paid attention to the smiling ginger-head and decided her assessment was apt. Weasley's foot-tapping was starting to drive him insane, too.

The meeting ambled along, paced as fast as a boy digging a hole to China with a spoon.

"I honestly don't know why I'm here," the woman spat suddenly, clearly disgruntled. "I had to put off all of my laundry until tomorrow to be here. And now I'm not even part of all this. Albus can be such a nuisance, sometimes."

 _Agreed,_ Snape silently applauded, then attempted to pay attention to the proceedings.

Auror Moody and Gideon Prewett began a riled discussion, Moody invoking his stubborn 'constant vigilance' clause more often than reasonable.

"That one's an arse," decided Severus' companion. "It's not our fault he's a blithering idiot. Someone, kick him out before our ears begin to bleed. "

Rather shocked, Severus cast a sly glance at her—who was she? Her chipped glass-pearl necklace, sensible shoes, and plaid wool skirt (adorned with cat hairs) gave him little clue.

The meeting concluded, and the woman rose.

"I never caught your name," she said, with a prim dip of the head.

"I never caught yours," he replied, aloof.

"Arabella Figg." She extended her hand, and he took it.

"Severus Snape." He drew his fingers away from her blotchy painted nails.

"You seem interesting," the woman said, unfolding a pair of glasses from her pocketbook. "I must rush off, but I'd like to talk to you more. Would you like to come to tea sometime soon? I make fine chocolate biscuits."

The invitation was sudden, but Severus rarely received invitations of any sort. So, he conceded, "Perhaps."

"Good," the woman said. "I'm writing a novel, you see," she explained, "and I do believe you might make a fine model for my protagonist. Tall, dark, handsome...you know the sort." With this, she raised an eyebrow at him and pursed her lips.

Snape's stomach knotted with incredulity and embarrassment. _What?!_

"Arabella!" came a voice from behind them, and Severus had never been happier to see Dumbledore. Slinking away as soon as the strange woman turned, Snape mused that the headmaster did have the _oddest_ friends.

. . . x . . . X . . . x . . .

Mrs. Norris

Snape stalked between the tables, seething at being _once again_ handed the mundane job of babysitting the students during Study Hall in the Great Hall.

 _Minerva'll pay richly for this hour_ , he thought grimly, _I've got much more important things to do than this._

Ten minutes after the half-past bell chimed, there was a shout from outside the Great Hall, and everyone looked up to see what was the matter.

"Damn cat!"

This was followed immediately by fervent supplication, "Oh, please my dear, I didn't mean it! Honest to Merlin, I didn't..."

A panic-stricken Argus Filch soon rushed into the Great Hall, preceded by the scampering Mrs. Norris. She was far more agile than him, as was her way (being a cat), and she leaped up on tables, darted between students and inkwells and notebooks, and finally made one great leap onto the enormous wall-tapestry and scaled it.

Filch was soon at the base of the tapestry, but his darling was already at the top, holding steady and hissing.

Everyone in the Great Hall laughed, save Snape. He didn't see it as funny, but rather tragic.

 _Reminds me of a certain someone who said a certain thing that made another certain someone loathe the previous someone,_ he told himself obliquely, banishing thoughts of Lily from his mind.

At this point, Filch became frustrated and left the room, probably to get a ladder or some other tool.

To save the squib more trouble, Snape went over to the tapestry and gently pried the cat off the fabric with a detachment spell, setting her down at his feet.

She, in response, began to twist himself around and between his legs affectionately, purring.

As he heard tittering from the students, Snape glared at a few choice victims and stalked back to the front of the room, arms crossed over one another. Mrs. Norris followed, to his annoyance, but she very quietly sat down next to him, and because she wasn't a disturbance, he let her stay.

After study hall ended, Filch returned to the Great Hall, an expanding scaffold in tow, but he was pleased to see that Snape had brought down his kitty. Until, that is, the aforementioned feline darted away from him, hissing in revulsion.

Not wanting to deal with the pair more than necessary, Severus left.

Over the rest of the day, Severus was vaguely aware of a presence near him. As he left his class, he felt there was something following him. At dinner, he felt the whiskings of a long tail near his legs. Finally, when he got to his rooms for the night, she was waiting for him in front of his door, and she meowed for attention.

"Damn cat," he thoughtlessly muttered as soon as he saw her.

Her eyes widening in fear, she bolted.

. . . x . . . X . . . x . . .

Femme Fatale Number Six: Aurora Sinistra, Astronomy

Snape was irritated by the hardness of the warm French bread on his plate. Far from being crisp on the outside and chewy on the inside, the pitiful specimen on his plate was nothing short of stale.

_Reheated, no doubt, by those lazy elves, who insist on buying in bulk and freeze the excess for later._

He slathered it in hazelnut spread.

_If a man of MY temperament reigned in the kitchens, this would not happen._

At that moment, the unfortunate creature who sat beside him, Aurora Sinistra, startled him.

"Having a good breakfast?" she asked, sounding altogether too chipper for someone whose job it was to stay up all night regarding the stars.

He made a noncommittal noise.

"I'm so glad."

 _What on earth?_ Snape wondered. The woman rarely spoke to anyone, much less him, and, come to think of it, she never came to breakfast, either.

"When's your first class?" she asked, and Snape realized her voice was very low.

"Eight," he fibbed. His first period started at ten; contrary to popular conception, he liked to grade papers in the morning.

"It's almost seven now. I know it's a _bit_ early, but would you come with me after breakfast?"

"Why?" he asked, and then immediately regretted it. She leaned over to whisper in his ear, filling his nostrils with the powerful perfume of dew and orchids.

"I've been having _fantasies_ about you since you joined staff," she breathed, and Snape felt his body turn rigid. "I've decided I want to start living them out, now that I'm newly single. Will you come?" she reiterated, pulling back a little. "It will be _very_ quick."

He opened his mouth. Some men would have been ecstatic by such an invitation, but Severus was purely shocked. As he looked at the woman who addressed him, her large blue eyes meeting his, nausea rose in his esophagus.

_Lily. Think of Lily._

"No. Thank you," he choked, not sure what to say in this bizarre situation, "but really, no thank you."

She appeared beyond put-out by his adamant denial, her shoulders sinking substantially and her eyes turning glassy.

"Oh. Okay. I'm sorry," she flustered, turning a deep red. "I could have sworn-"

"-No. I'm flattered, truly, but no."

_Fantasies? About me?_

The idea was so strange and horrible that he felt truly sick.

_Someone's been watching me and I haven't even noticed. What kind of spy am I?_

Standing up, he realized that this occasion must have been planned. The tops of two firm breasts poked from a daring blouse, her skirt was tight and accentuated an hourglass figure, and her skirt lacked panty lines, suggesting—to Snape's horror—nothing there. She appeared uncomfortable now, having been proven a fool by the object of her affections, and she seemed helpless without her usual businesslike tweed.

His survey of her, however, was misinterpreted; she stood up, thinking that he had changed his mind, and he waved her back.

"Finish your breakfast, then _change your clothes_ , Professor," he said carefully, stalking away and shaking his head.

. . . x . . . X . . . x . . .

Severus thought the worst was over, with regards to the amorous affections of these wiley witchy women. And to some regard, he was correct. 

Except for one he never accounted for. One that very few of us ever would account for. 

He was walking through the grounds one blustery afternoon, on his frequent trek around the lake, feeling depressed and deep in thought as he marched through the damp mossy grass. 

As he often did, he walked past the tree where he'd experienced that fateful Levicorpus back on one of the most embarrassing moments of his life. It was situated right at the edge of the lake, and it always made him shudder, but simply to test his mental fortitude, he would linger in its shadow as long as he could stand it. 

The tree was older now, as he was, and he noted the marks of children recording their height over the years in its bark. It made him sad to see Lily's name there, carved so prettily with a charm during their sixth year. He'd watched her do it from afar, wallowing and avoiding her gaze. 

As he began to feel the pangs of pain pushing against his Occulmentic shields, he began to move away and head onwards. This test wasn't going well today, it seemed. Usually he could go fifteen to twenty minutes of sustained focus before his resolve began to crumple.   
  
Suddenly, he realized there was someone watching him. Something caught his attention, in the corner of his eye, and he whisked around with a wand drawn. 

But behind him was devoid of watchers - just the gently rippling water of the lake. 

Feeling his spidey-senses activated nonetheless, Severus lowered his wand but continued to look around him with suspicion. 

He began to walk onwards, his guard raised, and he tred soundlessly across the earth. 

A moment later, he heard a bubbling coming from the water behind him, and he flung himself around once more, his wand-hand at the level of his eye and his terror rising despite himself. 

But nothing was there. 

"Probably a colecaenth," he muttered under his breath darkly, perturbed but trying to reassure his paranoid mind. 

He continued his stalk, and then a third time he heard a rustling of water, as like a dolphin surfacing. 

This time he was turning before the sound ended, his wand at the ready and a cold sneer on his face, directed at the shadowy figure that had emerged from the water. 

It was around the size of a duck, and it flapped gently like a flag in the wind, but Severus couldn't exactly tell what it was. Gingerly, he approached the shore in a perfect warrior stance, both eyebrows raised as he tried to see what the brownish-black glistening object was. 

Then, to his horror, he realized it was the tip of a tentacle. 

With an involuntary yelp, he leaped back several feet, landing squarely at the foot of the tree. What happened next he was not precisely certain, but before he knew what was what, he was upside-down in a perfect recreation of that dreaded memory of his and being shaken like a leaf. 

His wand fell, and to his fierce dismay it landed with a splash below, and not a thud onto solid ground. 

Trying to hold back the vomit that was coming up (down?), he bent his head down (up?) and immediately made uncomfortable eye contact with the giant squid. At least, with one of its eyes, which was the size of a table. 

Seeing its pupil and veins so close-up and slick was the final straw - Severus lost his dinner to the lake, though he had enough presence of mind not to spew into the eye of the beast. 

The thing proceeded to purr at him in an almost friendly manner. 

"Bloody hell," Severus spat, wiping his mouth unceremoniously on the hem of his cloak, "I take it you're in the mood for some company too. Just like all the rest of them." 

The giant squid blinked once - slowly, carefully, and almost *knowingly.* 

"Are you all in mating season or something?" Severus drawled, feeling strangely at ease despite his peculiarly compromising situation. He felt an odd kindredship with this creature of the dark and deep, and it intrigued him while also terrifying him. "Haven't you got better blokes to drool after? I'm well aware of my shortcomings as a potential lover." 

The squid seemed to sigh, and she fluttered her eyelashes at Severus. 

"I mean," he continued with a sense of sorrow, "I'm not even the correct *species* for you. Surely there are giant squid gentlemen more deserving of your time?" 

The low groan the squid emitted was something the likes of which you nor I, dear reader, have ever heard before. It was, however, a sadness that resonated deeply with Severus on a basic intrinsic level. 

"Or perhaps there is not," Severus surmised, and again the squid gave a cognizant, slow wink in affirmation. 

He began to feel rather warm all over, and he remembered vaguely that some breeds of giant squid were sought after for their natural amorific potion enhancing properties. Their skin exuded a kind of hormone that, when combined with a number of other well-chosen ingredients to reduce its toxicity, made an irresistable love potion. 

So perhaps it was this that made his loins itch, for the first time in what seemed like forever, or perhaps it was just the sense of comraderie he felt with the lonely squid. 

Anyway, what did it matter if it was just biochemicals? He knew it was futile to resist a squid once it had its tentacles upon you. 

"I suppose there's a possibility that... we could come to some kind of arrangement," he mused, the blood rushing to his head. "But would you mind *dreadfully* putting me down?" 

With reluctance, but obvious trust, the squid did rest Severus back on the shore. He collapsed face-first on the ground and tried to collect his bearings.

A more cowardly man might have run straight-off and never looked back, but somehow this turn of events made Severus more intrigued than ever. 

"Thank you," he uttered, once he had his breath back. He sat up carefully and looked up into the large, wise creature's eye again, and it seemed sad, as if expecting him to dash. 

"If we can have a proper conversation," Severus went on, internally moaning at his own ridiculousness (here he was entertaining the idea of dating the Hogwarts giant squid... which he'd only heard fabled of before tonight!) "I might indeed be interested. Have you been watching me, these years past, as I walked this route?" 

The squid nodded, and seemed to smile knowingly. 

"How interesting." Despite himself, he felt a flush rise to his cheeks. "I imagine it must get quite lonesome in that dark lake of yours." 

And so, in this manner, they chatted for hours. 

...............................

A week later, after all his classes were concluded for the day, Severus was walking through the hallways with a jaunty spring in his step and the slightest hint of a smile on his face. 

"He smells even more sulpheric than usual," twittered Bathshba Babbling, covering her nose as he passed. 

"And his hair is... ugh, it looks like *seaweed*" groaned Rolanda Hooch with distaste. 

Irma Pince looked between them, horrified at the sight that Severus had become. 

"What has happened to that poor man?" Poppy Pomfrey whispered, noticing the collection of circular red marks on the side of his jawbone. 

"And... are those *barnacles?*" shrieked Aurora Sinistra, pointing at something stuck to the back of his dragon-hide boot. 

Mrs. Norris was more intrigued than ever, however - Severus was smelling more and more like a tasty fishy snack. 

But Severus paid none of them any mind at all. Instead, he happily returned to his dungeon bedroom. He opened up the curtain he had against the wall that hid his favorite new architectural feature. 

The dark green glow of the Hogwarts lake shone through the magical meniscus of water. It had taken him a whole night to transfigure, but now the stone of his bedroom wall was gone, and in its stead was a wall of water. 

"Hullo beautiful," he murmured charmingly, extenting one hand to meet the tentacle that gently teased him from below the water's surface. "I expect your day was better than mine." 

She chirped at him in as affectionate a way as a giant squid could, and he plunged his face into the murky water to kiss her right between her enormous eyes. 

"You won't *believe* what Helbert Figgins did in the Griffindor/Slytherin doubles," Severus moaned, carefully wiping his face with a convenient towel. Then he poured himself a snifter of brandy and seated himself in an armchair strategically placed to face the lake and his love. "It simply boggles the imagination..." 

~fin~

**Author's Note:**

> Fanfiction Writers and (non)Celebrities: What Do They Know? Do They Know Things?? Let's Find Out!  
> [Tumblr](https://lady-heliotrope-writes.tumblr.com/)  
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